


the missing weekend

by mardia



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Intoxication, Spoilers for Lies Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: Molly makes a low growl of disapproval and shoots Beverley a look that says, as clear as anything,Take this intoxicated idiot off my hands before I’m forced to kill him.(Written for sixthlight, who wanted fic about what happened during the missing weekend mentioned in Lies Sleeping.)





	the missing weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sixthlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/gifts).



“Wait, hang on--what’s happened to Peter?” Beverley asks, straining to hear Sahra’s reply over the noise on the other end of the phone--God, is Peter _singing_?

“He had some dodgy tea,” Sahra repeats patiently. “We were off visiting Marcia, you know, that white lady with the boat on Camden Lock--”

“Everybody knows Marcia,” Beverley says. “Wait, are you saying Marcia drugged--”

“She’s swearing she just mixed up the labels on her tins of tea leaves, and Nightingale’s fairly sure Peter’s going to be okay--”

“I put a spell on you,” Peter warbles off-key in the background, “becaaaaaause you’re miiiiiine…”

“But he is _very high_ right now,” Sahra finishes. “He’s currently swanning about the Folly’s kitchen singing very badly, I have to get back to work, Nightingale’s off with Dr. Walid testing the tea and Molly’s busy with her work--”

Beverley’s already packing up her books for that week’s course work in her bag, holding her phone between her ear and her shoulder as her hands are busy. “I’ll be right over,” she promises. “Can you guys get him up to the tech cave?”

There’s a distant crashing noise, and Sahra says grimly, “Oh trust me, Molly’s going to find a way.”

*

Beverley’s waiting outside the tech cave when Peter finally emerges from the back door of the Folly, his weight being supported by Sahra and Molly on either side of him, arms slung around their shoulders. 

His head is bowed low, and for a moment Beverley’s heart leaps into her throat, but then he lifts his head and his entire face lights up. “Bev!”

“Hi, babes,” Beverley says, smiling back at him as she pushes herself up off from where she’s been leaning against the boot of her Kia. “Sahra asked me to come by and keep an eye on you, apparently you’ve been getting in trouble again.”

“I have not!” Peter says, wide-eyed and very indignant. “I _haven’t_ , I got drugged and then Sahra brought me home and then Nightingale went off and I didn’t mean to knock Molly’s pots down to the floor--”

Molly makes a low growl of disapproval and shoots Beverley a look that says, as clear as anything, _Take this intoxicated idiot off my hands before I’m forced to kill him._

And Beverley will do that, she absolutely will--just in a minute or two. “How’d you knock Molly’s pots down?” she asks, curious. She’s seen Peter tipsy before, but he always makes a point of not going totally out of control when he drinks, and this is---new. 

“He was dancing,” Sahra says, groaning as she lifts Peter’s arm off her shoulders--Molly takes the extra weight without grumbling. “He was dancing _and_ singing.”

“Oh babes,” Beverley says. “All right, come on, let’s get up to the tech cave where we can keep you out of trouble.” Frankly, she thinks Peter could get into more trouble with being given access to the Internet when he’s like this, but it’s the principle of the thing. And there’s no way she’s missing this. 

“Wait, but I have to do an experiment first,” Peter says.

Molly lifts up her head in alarm at this, and Sahra groans and says, “Peter, you’re _high_.”

Peter wrinkles up his face, an expression Beverley should not find as adorable as she does. “Of course I’m high,” he says. “That’s the point, I want to see how well I can do magic when I’m high and not sober.”

“Oh my God, you giant nerd,” Beverley says, half in affection and half in genuine alarm. 

“Listen, it’ll only take a minute, I swear,” Peter says, moving to turn back around, except that Molly, clearly at the end of her rope, quickly hoists him up into a fireman’s carry, Peter letting out a high-pitched sound of surprise as he’s thrown across Molly’s shoulders that Beverley will remember until the end of her days. 

Huffing in irritation, Molly takes a few steps forward, Peter loudly complaining all the while--and then she turns to look pointedly at Beverley, silently asking, _Are you coming?_

Beverley follows along, not bothering to hold back her laughter. 

*

Thankfully for everyone, Beverley both has the day free and has a much higher tolerance for Peter’s intoxicated babbling than Molly does. She also has no problem singing along with Peter when he’s making his way through the early Sugababes discography, or his favorite songs from the Spice Girls. 

“Stop right now, thank you very much,” Beverley and Peter sing, Beverley’s arms wrapped around Peter’s neck as they groove to the song playing on Peter’s mobile, their bodies pressed closely together as they move in the same rhythm. “I need somebody with a human touch…”

Beverley laughs out loud as Peter twirls her around. God, this is _fun_. Beverley understands why Peter tends to avoid using things like weed or molly, or why he never indulges in heavy drinking, and she’ll be having _words_ with Marcia later--but all the same it’s nice to see Peter like this, so carefree, not carrying so much weight on his shoulders for once. 

Beverley misjudges the distance when she twirls back, and she crashes into Peter’s chest, giggling helplessly as he wraps his arms around her, dropping kisses against her hair, his heartbeat steady in her ears and his body warm against her own. 

It’s a good moment, only broken by Peter musing, “I wonder how much slower my reflexes are with the shield when I’m like this.”

Beverley lifts up her head. “Peter,” she says slowly, “No magic in the tech cave is _your_ rule.”

“We could go down to the garage, then!” Peter offers brightly, and Beverley groans and does her best to dissuade him, but that quickly turns into a playful wrestling match that only ends when Beverley’s got Peter safely pinned to the ground, straddling his waist with her hands tight on his wrists. Peter’s panting for breath and wriggling against her in a very _distracting_ way, so of course this is when Nightingale walks in the door. 

He pauses in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, blinking down at them. “Ah. Hello.”

“Hi,” Peter says, twisting his head around as best as he can to look up at Nightingale. “Bev’s keeping me hostage up here.”

“I am not!” Beverley says, indignant. “I am trying to keep you _out_ of trouble while you’re running about high as a kite, thank you very much.” She squeezes his wrists a little tighter for emphasis, using a bit more of her weight to hold him down, and her nails must accidentally dig in a little harder into the soft skin at Peter’s wrists, because Peter looks up at her, scandalized.

“We can’t do that _now_ ,” Peter hisses. “Nightingale’s here!”

“Oh my God, babes,” Beverley groans, while Nightingale quickly coughs into his fist. 

“I just wanted to let you both know I’ve spoken to Abdul, and he believes that Peter will suffer no ill effects from, ah--”

“Marcia’s dodgy tea?” Beverley finishes, and Nightingale nods. 

“Exactly,” he says, but adds, “Not that I won’t be making my own visit down to Camden Lock to make my displeasure clear.”

“Don’t scare her off,” Peter says, trying to rise up on his elbows, but Beverley braces herself, and he flops back with a huff of displeasure. “She’s a good source of information and I don’t need you coming along all Nightingale-y.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Nightingale says blandly, and Peter scowls up at him. 

“You do, you absolutely do,” Peter insists, scowling up at him. “ _Behave_.”

“Bossy, isn’t he,” Beverley says in a very dry tone, and Nightingale suddenly breaks out into a wide smile that makes him look years younger. 

“He is, but usually he’s at least a little bit more subtle about it,” Nightingale says. 

“Oi, I am _right here_ ,” Peter says, outraged. 

“So?” Beverley asks, looking back down at him. “It’s not like you’ll be remembering it in the morning.”

As Peter loudly begins to protest, Nightingale laughs and gently shuts the door behind him as he goes, promising to have Molly come up with some food later. Peter doesn’t even notice as he's too busy arguing with Beverley, and Beverley’s more than happy to oblige him, at least until the iPhone (which has been on shuffle this entire time) switches to a familiar song. 

Peter notices it as well, stopping mid-sentence to smile. “Oh, I like this song,” he says, grinning happily, his earlier strop forgotten utterly. 

Beverley smiles down at him, filled with so much love and affection for her ridiculous, wonderful boyfriend that she feels warm all over with it, spreading all the way down to her toes. “I know you do, babes.” She leans down and nuzzles at his cheek, brushing the tip of his nose with her own as she softly sings, “I put a spell on you...because you’re mine.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees softly, warm and solid and hers, hers completely. “Yeah, I am.”

*

Beverley ends up being right--Peter really doesn’t remember anything that happened that weekend. “You swear I didn’t do anything too ridiculous?” he asks doubtfully one morning at breakfast. 

Beverley smiles and drops a kiss on his cheek, remembering the sight of Peter dancing, head leaning back and his hips moving to the beat. “You were lovely,” she says, and means every word.

Peter squints at her, but visibly decides to let it go. “All right, if you say so. And as long as there’s no video.”

“Don’t worry,” Beverley says, and tactfully restrains herself from adding that everyone who saw Peter that day--herself, Molly, Sahra, even Nightingale--don’t need video evidence to remember it, not when Peter's off-key singing--and dancing--were so memorable. 

Bev’s a good girlfriend like that.


End file.
